


The Confessions of a Dying Man

by bondageluvr



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:43:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondageluvr/pseuds/bondageluvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is to be executed at dawn. Is there any way for Arthur to relieve his suffering?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confessions of a Dying Man

**Author's Note:**

> Felt like writing something angsty.   
> Un-beta-ed.   
> Please comment.

Soft eyelashes swept steep cheekbones. Nervous fingers fidgeted with the hem of the rough cotton shirt. Small wrists ached as shackles chafed the thin skin around them. Tears threatened to fall from sea-blue eyes. Soft lips trembled with every painstaking step their proprietor took towards his doom. The emaciated, waif-like body shook with grief and fear. He had lost everything. 

Everything but his judge, who had once been his lord. 

Who still was his lord despite the hardships he’d had the boy endure. 

Despite the battles they’d fought together.

Despite the hatred that had contorted the young, strong face of the Prince. 

“The servant-boy, Merlin, is to be put to death by fire at dawn tomorrow. He has been found guilty of sorcery and therefore treason,” the King declared from the Prince’s right. The condemned young man only heard the words through a haze, as his eyes were only on his Master. A brief flicker of doubt traveled through the fine features and then the facial muscles stilled, their owner stonewalling everything and everyone except for the betrayed anger that coursed through his body. He had trusted Merlin with his life. He had put all his faith into a lie. A lie that had persevered through several long years of – his mouth curled into a grim line, – _friendship_. Of _loyalty_. 

The Crown Prince watched as the weight of his father’s decision settled onto the shoulders of the onlookers. Gaius, the Court Physician and the boy’s only family as far as Camelot was concerned, let out a shuddering breath. If he had put more strength behind it, it would have been a strangled moan. Guinevere, Merlin’s friend and advisor, looked up at the Prince with glimmering eyes and at that moment he knew he had lost her. She would not stray from the boy’s side for his sake. Several knights exchanged pained gazes but none of them said anything. 

The condemned simply stood there, no emotion but sorrow showing on his young face. With an exhale, he dared look up at the royals in front of him, first at the King, to whom he spared a brief glance of _pity_ of all things; then to the King’s Ward, who received a surprisingly violent glare; and then, finally, to the Prince. 

What Arthur saw was more than unnerving. While fresh tears clung to Merlin’s long eyelashes, the boy’s lips twisted into a smile, of all things. It was the same smile he had bestowed upon the Prince during the numerous preparations they’d undergone together before battle, during the tournaments Merlin had attended, cheering and worrying for him, during the brief, stolen moments of camaraderie the two had shared when stuck together on numerous occasions, with only themselves and their small heartfelt exchanges for company. 

The smile was wrong, so, _so wrong_ in this setting. Arthur struggled with the urge to look away. Merlin was forgiving him for this, as he had forgiven many other things. 

As the young man was being dragged away, the smile did not falter. 

The Prince’s resolve, on the other hand, did. 

* * *

Nightfall found Merlin curled up in his cell, awaiting the break of dawn. He was leaning against the stone wall, as far from the post as his chain would allow him to go, his head tilted back to inhale the moist air that sluggishly entered through the small barred window at the very top. His fingers had stopped their nervous dance once he’d been thrown back into prison but his tears had not stopped burning at the corners of his eyes. He refused to cry, as he knew it had been his own stupidity and recklessness that had led to this. He should have been more careful. Now there would be nobody to protect his Once and Future King. 

His breathing stuttered when the door opened to the dungeon and cautious footfalls echoed throughout the stone corridor. Despite the walker trying to appear anonymous, Merlin could identify that particular wake amongst millions. His Prince had come to see the face of the betrayer. 

The footsteps stopped a few feet short of the bars of Merlin’s cell and a halting breath resounded against the dense walls. His Prince did not want to look him in the eye. 

“I know you’re there,” Merlin breathed, eliciting a small gasp from Arthur. He heard the Prince slide down to the ground, his back to the wall, and settle down onto the floor. 

“Have you come to say goodbye?” 

His question was met with silence. 

“I suppose you’re not that big of a prat, then, Sire,” Merlin mused more to himself than to the Prince though he thought he did hear a muffled chuckle from behind the wall obstructing his view. “For what it’s worth, thank you for the honor of seeing you one last time before they light up the pyre.” 

Merlin melted into the wall behind his back and he let out a shuddering sigh.

“You know, sometimes I wonder how you survived this long with such an idiot for a servant.” He licked his lips. “To get caught conjuring a simple fire. And by whom? Sir _Michael_ of all people. The man is as daft as the Mercian knights and yet he was the one to bring me forth in chains. I suppose it’s fitting, though, isn’t it? For an idiot to catch an idiot.”

He heard the Prince shuffle for a bit and he imagined him putting a hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. Merlin’s self-critique had always been well-received with the Prince. 

“I suppose you’ll be the last person I’ll ever talk to even though I know you probably hate the sight of me, hence all the hiding. I understand, Sire. Well then, let me tell you some things I haven’t been able to share with you for the fear of discovery. Things I wanted you to know for so long,” Merlin near whispered. The pull of longing in his chest was almost too painful to let him breathe. The time had come for him to tell his Prince. 

“I’ve always had magic, you know,” he started. “For as long as I can remember, my mother was always yelling at me to stop moving what furniture we had around and hitting me round the head with a wooden spoon. I still remember the sting of it even though it stopped being painful around the time I turned eight. I guess it’s one of those strange childish memories you get to keep for some reason. Anyway, my mother always feared for me and she had good reason, as you can probably see I’m not the most careful of men.” 

He shook his head silently. 

“I came to Camelot because she was afraid of what the villagers would do to me if they found out I had magic. Ironic, isn’t it?” He breathed. “I joined Gaius at court. Saved his life, that was the first thing I did when I met him. He fell from his little storage balcony, you know, the one that’s always cluttered with expired ingredients? I broke his fall. Stopped time, actually and then pushed a bed with a mere thought right to the spot where he fell a moment later. Saw right though me, he did. Told me to keep in secret.” 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you the best bit,” Merlin said almost merrily. “Do you know what was the first public function I attended at Camelot? A sorcerer’s execution. Kind of funny that would also be the last thing I’ll attend too, huh?” 

“I watched your father’s men chop his head off, right after I walked through the castle gates. A sort of warning from fate, I guess. Anyway, you know how the rest of the story goes. I ended up at that party with that witch throwing a dagger at you. Used my powers to save your life, too. Bet you thought it was just luck. Magic, that’s what it was.” 

“I became your servant. Hated it too, at least at first. You were a Royal Prat if there ever was one. Worked me so tired I could barely find the strength to collapse into bed only to be woken at the wee hours of the morning to tend to your childish demands. Fetch me this, fetch me that, Merlin. Don’t you have your own perfectly capable hands for fetching?” 

“After a while, though, I got the whole _pressure of being the Crown Prince_ thing. I mean, you were as tired as me some days.”

“I think seeing that made me realize we weren’t that different.”

Merlin heard an offended huff. 

“No, really, sire. We both had destinies we had to fulfill, yours was being the perfect prince and mine was protecting your pampered arse from all the wrongs of the realm. We both hated our jobs but took pleasure in them at the same time. And I bet we both tired the same way.”

“I like to think we became friends.”

“See, this is where my story gets interesting because now I’ll be sharing things that nobody knows. Be sure to write them down if you ever wanted to tell your children the story of the foolish sorcerer who served you once.”

“I came to feel quite differently about you, sire. At first I thought you weren’t that bad. Then I think we established some sort of truce even though you still threw heavy things at me quite often. And then I think I... um, came to love you the way... the way Gwen did.” 

A sharp intake of breath followed his confession. Merlin’s mouth twitched into a spasmodic smile. 

“You were oblivious, of course. And it was understandable, too, but sometimes I wondered what it would be like to tell you. My mind, of course, told me I would probably either get laughed at or hanged; my heart, however, supplied me with far more agreeable images.”

“You becoming King. Me standing by your side as you lifted the ban on magic. A hand-fasting ceremony conducted by that stuck-up Geoffrey. Maybe I would have found a magical way to give you an heir.” Merlin laughed. “I’m probably insane. Yep, that’s what I am.” 

* * *

“Sire, I know you have no intention of talking to me and my voice is already growing hoarse; but I think I can see the first streaks of dawn. Can I ask for a last wish? For old times’ sake?” Merlin asked quietly, watching the reflection of dawn glimmer in the sandy stone overhead. 

“Once I’m gone, try to keep yourself out of trouble, won’t you?”

* * *

When the last Dragonlord burned, he did not scream.

He had said all he’d needed too. 

He was selfish enough to smile at the tiny droplet of salt that traveled down the Prince’s cheek. 

He knew he’d relieved himself of his burdens. 

What he did not know was that the Prince burnt with him.


End file.
